


wasting beats of this heart of mine

by blackkat



Series: useless porn scraps [15]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Biting, Consensual Somnophilia, M/M, Overstimulation, PWP, Rough Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Of all the places in the world to end up, this is just about the last one Kakuzu ever would have expected.





	wasting beats of this heart of mine

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i ship this really really hard and i have no clue how it happened. tumblr is probably to blame.

Of all the places in the world to end up, this is just about the last one Kakuzu ever would have expected.

He settles on the edge of the large bed, dropping his glass of water on the bedside table, and looks at the shape curled up between the messy blankets. Hashirama is tangled in his long hair, the strands sticking like silk to his sweaty skin. There's still a bright red scarf around his wrists from the last round, when Kakuzu tied him to the headboard, and slick between his thighs.

Anyone else might hesitate to let the assassin who tried to kill them tie them up and fuck them, but Hashirama isn’t like anyone else, Kakuzu’s coming to learn.

With a quiet snort at his own thoughts— _soft_ , being in Konoha has made him _fucking soft_ , and it’s his own fault for throwing himself on the village’s mercy after the shit-show in Taki—he twists, gets a knee on the bed and leans over Hashirama’s unconscious form. For a moment he just has to admire the toned muscle of a fighting-fit shinobi, the very furthest thing from letting himself go no matter what the idiots in Taki thought. Hashirama is beautiful, skin shaded dark bronze from the sun, face touched with a smile even in sleep.

There are criminal tattoos wrapped around Kakuzu’s arms, and a cut through his hitai-ate. He sold himself to Konoha for safety, for money, and sometimes when he goes to touch Hashirama it’s a wonder he’s even allowed.

Not that Kakuzu cares. He’s a greedy bastard. He’s paid a high wage here for his missions, higher than Taki ever managed and a hell of a lot more than he’d get as a missing-nin, so he’ll stay. The fact that there's a warm, willing body to bury himself in is just a plus.

Warm and _entirely_ willing, even when Kakuzu paraded out lists of the things he liked and wanted. Hashirama was bewilderingly accepting, changed a few things but otherwise agreed to practically everything, and Kakuzu’s had whores who wouldn’t do that. Hashirama’s too kind for his own good, though, Kakuzu knew that the minute the man let him back into Konoha, a citizen rather than an assassin this time. This is just—Kakuzu taking advantage. Taking everything that’s offered and more, just because he can.

Hashirama isn’t moving, the rise and fall of his breaths steady and slow. Exhausted, probably; Kakuzu pushed him punishingly hard, testing limits, waiting for him to back out, to go back on their agreement. When Hashirama hadn’t, Kakuzu had gone…well. Not too far, clearly, but far enough that there are still a trace of dried tears on Hashirama’s long lashes, from relief and exhaustion in equal measure.

He’s offensively handsome, high cheekbones and warm eyes and a broad, sturdy build with honed muscle and the grace of a sleek cat. _Begging_ for someone to wreck him, really, and of course Kakuzu will try his best now that he has the opportunity.

Reaching out, he rolls Hashirama the rest of the way onto his stomach, nudges his legs apart and settles between them on his knees. Gets his hands on Hashirama’s ass and pulls the cheeks apart to look at his hole, puffy and swollen and still streaked with wet come because Kakuzu hadn’t wanted to clean him up. Had wanted Hashirama to carry the signs of him, to lie there full of Kakuzu’s come and sore from his cock, bruised and bitten and _used_ by a common criminal, the revered founder of the Village Hidden in the Leaves treated like the cheapest girl at the brothel.

He breathes out, low and harsh, and hears a soft huff. A moment later, a hand presses over his, and Hashirama turns his head to look at him, already smiling. As if Kakuzu is _anything_ to smile about.

“Again?” he asks hoarsely, but brings his knees up, parting his legs further with a sleepy, sated sigh.

He’s not going to get hard again. Not after earlier. But there's no refusal in his face, just languid agreement. The knowledge vibrates through Kakuzu like a crack across fragile glass, and he growls, shoves two fingers into Hashirama’s body without warning. Hashirama sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering shut, but he doesn’t move, and Kakuzu drags his fingers through the sloppy mess of come and lube inside of him, feeling the stretched muscle give under the force.

“I've seen whores less well-used,” he says flatly.

Hashirama laughs, because of course he does. “About to be more well-used,” he says, almost teasing, and gets his elbows underneath himself.

Kakuzu shoves him down flat, hand tangled in silky black hair. “ _Stay_ ,” he growls, and Hashirama obediently goes still, that soft gaze watching Kakuzu attentively. There's still a curve to his mouth that says he’s about to smile, and Kakuzu _hates it._ Whatever he does, Hashirama just _takes it_ , doesn’t retaliate. He can be terrifying in battle, and Kakuzu knows that better than most people alive, but outside of it he’s just—

Kind. Gentle. _Accepting_. It drives Kakuzu fucking insane.

His own cock is achingly hard, has been practically since he dragged it out of Hashirama the last time to clean himself up and get some water. Four stolen hearts, and they're _him_ in a way he doesn’t quite understand and doesn’t care to, strength and stamina even in this, and Kakuzu glories in it, in the lack of human limits. Nothing to hold him back now, nothing to deny him, even if what he wants is as simple as fucking Hashirama into incoherence again.

He keeps his hand in Hashirama’s hair as he covers him, shoves his cheek into the mattress and growls when he feels muscular thighs tremble where they're pressed along his own. “Fuck, you're eager for this. A bitch in heat, begging to be mounted. Your beloved village should see you like this.”

Hashirama moans at the drag and catch of Kakuzu’s cock sliding over his hole, and he tilts his hips up like he’s trying to get it in him. “No,” he says, low and certain. “It’s just for you.”

The words hit Kakuzu like a blow, and he snarls, stomach turning over with an emotion he refuses to think about too closely. Grabbing Hashirama’s hipbone, he forces him still, gets his cock lined up and shoves in hard, all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Hashirama gives a cry, breathless and punched out, and his entire body clamps down on Kakuzu’s cock, a burning, slick-wet vise, and Kakuzu grunts. He presses his forehead to Hashirama’s spine, momentarily overcome, and lets his eyes slide shut as he savors the feel of him. Perfect. Made to take cock, he thinks, and it’s almost bitter. Not _his_ cock, because really, in what other world would Taki’s most hated criminal be able to put his hands on the God of Shinobi? But—whatever bit of fate got snarled to make this happen, Kakuzu appreciates it, if only so he has the chance to fuck this man until he cries.

He doesn’t give Hashirama mercy. There's none of it in him, none left, so he takes Hashirama brutally, each thrust hard enough to bruise, wringing a strangled, broken sound from him each time he bottoms out. Hashirama’s fingers tear at the blankets, clutching for handholds that he loses as Kakuzu fucks into him, draws back, takes him again. One hand Kakuzu keeps fisted in long hair, and as he snaps his hips down and makes Hashirama gasp he hauls him back with it like reins, sinks his teeth into the meat of Hashirama’s shoulder and hopes bitterly, desperately that the mark he leaves will scar and linger forever.

“ _Scream_ ,” he snarls at Hashirama, his other hand shoving underneath him to grab his half-hard cock. “Scream for me!”

The cry that breaks from Hashirama’s throat is ragged and clearly painful, and he jerks in Kakuzu’s grip, eyes wide and startled as a dry orgasm is ripped from him. He curls in on himself, expression pleasure that’s so close to pain it’s indistinguishable, and that _look_ —that’s the one Kakuzu keeps seeing when he closes his eyes. Like the moment he rips a beating heart from an enemy’s chest, entirely vulnerable and _open_ , but—

He doesn’t want to use Hashirama’s heart that way. Doesn’t want to waste it on a mask, as powerful as it would make him.

Kakuzu fucks Hashirama through his orgasm, doesn’t hold back or let up, and glories in the sharp, shocked cries as he does. Hashirama’s not telling him to stop, so he doesn’t, chases his own completion in Hashirama’s body, and when he bottoms out it feels like this one is dragged right from the depth of his gut, aching and fierce. He stays where he is for a long moment, panting into Hashirama’s bronze skin as the man trembles with exhaustion beneath him.

Finally, he manages a full breath, and asks, “Still alive down there?”

There's a wordless sound of confirmation, but it’s so rough even that is practically incomprehensible. Kakuzu huffs, because Hashirama’s been screaming pretty much all night at this point, and even his throat can't repair itself that fast. With a sound of disgust—because wrecking Hashirama like this is one thing, but if Kakuzu doesn’t at least _assist_ in his recovery, Tobirama will probably try to drown him the minute he notices—Kakuzu shifts, curls his hand around Hashirama’s hip.

“I'm pulling out,” he warns, and doesn’t wait for a response, just drags himself free. A spill of semen follows his cock, and Hashirama whimpers, fingers convulsing on the sheets.

Kakuzu wants to slide back into him. Wants to put his whole fist in that gaping hole, watch Hashirama squirm and twist and cry as he’s fucked with a fist and forced to come again. Or maybe get a plug and slide that into him, make him stay like this for _days_ , always ready and wet for Kakuzu to push him to his knees and mount him.

He isn’t going to, though. That last time was on the very edge of cruelty, and Kakuzu isn’t going to push himself over that line. Not this time, at least.

“Hey,” he says gruffly. “Roll over.”

There's a pause, then a groan. Hashirama shifts, slowly, gradually, and turns onto his back, expression twisting. Kakuzu narrows his eyes, watching him settle, and then asks, “Problem?” If Hashirama is bleeding somewhere besides the obvious bite on his shoulder, or if he’s torn something—

“I'm really…” Hashirama trails off, makes a face and then laughs a little at himself, raspy and low. “Full of you,” he finally decides on, opening his eyes to smile at Kakuzu like he’s sharing the joke.

It _should_ be a joke. But Hashirama’s full of his come, voice so hoarse it’s almost unrecognizable from all the screams Kakuzu wrung out of him, from the way he swallowed Kakuzu’s cock earlier. Kakuzu’s breath catches, his glaze sliding down of its own volition to watch more lube and come smear between Hashirama’s thighs.

 _Taken_ , Kakuzu thinks, and it fractures through him, possessive and greedy and grasping. Hashirama is _his_. His to do this to, to see like this, to bite and mark and keep, and fuck, Kakuzu doesn’t let money slip through his fingers. He doesn’t want to let this, either, and that avarice is dark and heavy and hot in his chest.

“Here,” he says, gets an arm behind Hashirama and pulls him up to sit, eyes narrowing at his badly-hidden wince. Grabbing his abandoned glass from the nightstand, he brings it to Hashirama’s lips, ignores his attempts to take it because his hands are shaking and he’d just spill it. He keeps it there until Hashirama has drained it, then lets him slump back to the bed, this time with his head on the pillows, and turns.

Before he can get further than the edge of the bed, a hand catches his arm. “Come sleep?” Hashirama asks, and those warm brown eyes are bleary, already heavy-lidded.

Kakuzu leans back and kisses him, can't resist the urge even though he normally doesn’t except during sex. It makes Hashirama smile, bright and happy even in his state, and Kakuzu looks away.

“In a minute,” he allows. “I'm filthy, and you are too. Just getting a towel.”

That seems to pacify Hashirama, and by the time Kakuzu steps out of the bathroom his eyes are closed, body lax again. Kakuzu settles back on the edge of the mattress, looking him over, and then turns away again and runs a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face.

Fuck. Fuck _everything_ , but especially the thoughts running through his head right now. There's no way they're going to end well.

Huffing in disgust, he drags the warm, wet towel between Hashirama’s legs, over his stomach and chest. Dabs at the bleeding bite wound for a minute, but then abandons the idea and tosses the rag away. There's one blanket miraculously untouched by their activities, and he drags it up over them, settling against Hashirama’s back.

Hashirama is warm. Impossibly, unbelievably warm, and Kakuzu closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and calls himself a thousand kinds of idiot.


End file.
